


Soul Scars

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where your soulmate's first words to you are tattooed on your skin, Sam's says, "You have four months to live."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by Tumblr user matesprit: "um okay so you know those soulmate aus where the first thing your soulmate says to you is tattooed on your body but what is the tattoo said “i’m sorry, you only have four months to live”  
> 
> 
> As you can see, this is no longer a drabble; I rewrote it as a full length fic and posted it as another chapter so it registered as updated, then deleted the drabble.

On the side of John Winchester’s neck were tattooed the words  _ What the hell is wrong with you!? _ and Sam thought that was appropriate, because he said it so often. He remembered their mother’s promise to show Sam and his brother the first words John said to her, when they were a little older. She died before Dean’s tattoo even showed up, and John refused to ever talk about it—or anything involving their mother, really.

Dean was soulmates with the daughter of one of John’s old “acquaintances,” their childhood introductions of  _ Hiya! _ and  _ I’m Dean _ tattooed conveniently on each other’s chests. Jo died in a gas-leak fire before they were old enough Ellen would let them date, Dad would let them settle down. Dean didn’t get much time to mourn, because Dad dragged them to another town across the country/

Dean was the subject of a minor miracle. Maybe a year after Jo, he found a handprint on the top of his shoulder. His second soulmate would touch him before they spoke, and Dean was scared to death she had a swear permanently etched on her body from his big dumb mouth.

Dean quit complaining about it after Sam’s appeared.

He slapped his alarm one morning, and scrawled on the inside of his forearm were his soulmate’s first words:  _ You have four months to live. _

“But it doesn’t make any sense!” he tried to argue. “Nobody starts a conversation like that—especially not doctors with bad news! How could I not have met them before they tell me I’m dying?”

Dean, uncomfortable, had replied, “I dunno... What else could it mean?”

Sam went quiet.

They travelled all the time as army brats, but whatever stamped itself on his arm could already be inside him, just waiting for an accident or something as simple as stress to take him to a foreign clinic where he’d meet his soulmate... and his death. Dean had a huge blowout with Dad when Sam insisted he was leaving for college, because there was no way he was leaving his brother when any day could be the start of his last. Dad died in a DUI that night, and the only reason Dean didn’t get himself killed was a soldier stationed in that same army town grabbed him by the shoulder before he stumbled drunk into the street.

Even drunk, he knew what that meant, and stammered an eloquent, “Wait... Are you...?”

Castiel just smiled and showed him those exact words written between his ribs.

Sam’s a lawyer. Dean’s a mechanic in the same little college town, doting over the ‘67 Impala he somehow restored after Dad seemingly totalled it. Dean’s a damn  _ good _ mechanic.

Sam gets a full work-up every few months by the same doctor he’s seen since college, waiting for the day she finds something and refers Sam to a specialist. He takes all test results through email, and had a panic attack in the emergency room that one time he got food poisoning.

Sam met his best friend when Castiel bailed him out of jail. Cas had a mess of cousins, most of which he hadn’t heard from in years, but Lucifer was in the neighbourhood (or a prison cell in the neighbourhood) and Castiel’s a nice person—whose brother-in-law happened to be a lawyer. Sam reached for the paperwork, and Lucifer said, “You have four months to live.”

He dropped the papers. “I... What?”

“Dammit.” Cas’s cousin replied, nodding to the tattoo on Sam’s forearm. Right; his sleeves were rolled up. “Thought if I said that, you’d punch me in the stomach.”

The Winchester gave him another boggled look, and Lucifer lifted his shirt, revealing the outline of a fist there. “Do you just say stupid stuff hoping somebody’ll hit you?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s rough.” he empathized, gathering the papers.

“You kidding? How do you  _ live _ with that?”

He shrugged. “You just do.”

Maybe Lucifer pities him, maybe he’s waiting for the day Sam falls in love and withers away from cancer or AIDS or whatever so he can watch—with Lucifer, there’s really no telling. They get along pretty well, and he calls Sam up late at night to ask for “theoretical” legal advice.

It’s weird that his name comes up on caller ID at nine pm, but Lucifer’s a weird guy. Sam answers with, “Isn’t it a little early for you to be getting arrested?”

“You need to meet my brother.” he blurts gravely.

“Is your brother getting arrested?”

“Just get your ass over here!” And he hung up.

So Sam shows up at Lucifer’s house with his work briefcase and the sleeves of his dress-shirt rolled up. “Come with me,” he says, dragging him by the arm, “and shut your mouth.”

“I’m not about to be part of anything illegal, am I?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

Sam does, because no matter how obnoxious, sadistic, or difficult Lucifer is, he’s his friend. They step into the living room, where a rather short man is waiting on the couch, wrist-deep in a bowl of M&Ms. He sees Lucifer return, and dumps a handful in his mouth before standing up. “Who-” he starts, mouth full, and holds up a finger while he chews.

“Gabriel, this is my bestie, Sam, and he’s gonna watch you do your audition.”

“What is he, like a thespian?” he garbles, looking the Winchester over and appearing more interested the higher he looks.

“Just do it!” Lucifer’s in a mood. Sam doesn’t argue with him when he’s like that, and apparently, neither does his brother. 

“‘Kay, okay, let me swallow!” 

Lucifer softens a bit, turning to his friend, though. “He’s auditioning as Doctor Sexy.”

Gabriel smiles, one hand covering his mouth as he chews, the other waving in a twiddling way. Sam smiles. “Okay. Uh, whenever you’re ready?”

Gabriel chokes down the chocolate, clears his throat, and wipes a hand in front of his face. He’s got one of those transitive faces, that looks almost like different people depending on the expression he’s making. The one he puts on is somber and regretful, but there’s a very intentional quirk of his brow, like he’s not going to let bad news make him look anything but pretty. He’s a good actor, and in a gruffly put-upon way, he says, “You have four months to live.”

He breaks character when Sam starts crying. “Wow, okay, um, you’re really good at this.” Then, more quietly, “Jeez, Luci, are you trying to make me feel bad? You know, we can’t all be bouncers, someone has to actually go to the club—” 

He goes quiet, slack-jawed and dumbfounded when Sam wrestles the cuff of his shirt up, the words tattooed there. “...Oh.” Gabriel says, astounded, then smiling brightly up at his soulmate. “ _ That _ kind of okay.”


End file.
